[If he finds anything strange about a much younger man talking to him in such a way, he certainly gives no sign of it. Asra is, after all, a good ten years younger than he, and as such he has some experience with it. It makes no difference, and when he finally has the use of his mouth again he runs his tongue across his lips, eyes still on Phillip's face despite the intensity that comes from holding his gaze, the deep shuddering knowledge of death in him.

His expression is wanton and undone and though it's obvious he's poised on a knife-edge of pleasure he shakes his head, infinitesimally.]

You uh, you don't have to do anything for me. It's all right, you know, to leave me unsatisfied. If you wanted to.

[Because that's a kind of pain in and of itself.]